I'm sailing under the flag
Of a strangled, mischieved banner.
They're pointing it with silly red snow,
Not fresh, not white.
No, it falls!
Dirty colours.
Undiscovered by them, really.
Weird.
They're dis-a-pointing,
With semantics, spoily, dirty colours
Waving goodbye to the quiet beauty.
I see them paint the silence
And they are painting it with trash,
With trash and glue.
They even paint the silence.
Lies, lies, lies
Strangled!
Heartless, pointless rulers.
Writer(s): Phillip Boa
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